


A boy named Rowan

by uselessflower14



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21833647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uselessflower14/pseuds/uselessflower14
Summary: A short story that I did in class as a part of a series I am working on. It was very. loosely based off this prompt:"He opened the window and stuck his head out on the ledge. Spreading his arms wide, I could not work out if he was an angel or a sacrificial lamb."





	A boy named Rowan

He spun around. The air pushing against him. That wouldn’t stop him. He completed another rotation. And another.  
Then he landed.  
His legs continued moving. He was beautiful like an eagle soaring, born to fly. He ran, and he was flying through the air again his body twisting. He made it look easy as breathing. A gentle fall back to earth, controlled so he barely made a noise. A flourish of a wing. His feet were moving of their own accord muscle memory from years of practice doing the hard part, his brain going over the emotion, pooling it into his chest and flinging it into his limbs so every movement was full of it.  
In the back of his mind, he could hear the deafening roar of the crowd so thoroughly invested in every step he took that they couldn’t help but scream. The music swelled to the climax, gushing out of the speakers and over him. He was drowning in it. The music rose again and fell rapidly. He moved with it, flinging himself into the air. He fell. He stopped crumpled on the floor. The music ended.  
Perfect.  
He stood back up and bowed, crossing a single arm over his chest. He walked over the barrier surrounding the rink. He picked up a single rose wrapped in clear cellophane. He waved to the still screaming crowd.  
He let himself grin. The smile stretched his face and shone light through his eyes. He loved this part the release of stress, the performance was over, the stress of scores would build once he was off the rink. But for now, he would relish the fireworks in his chest.  
He stepped off the rink.  
He looked around no one was there. No one he wanted to talk to anyway. Rowan had disappeared and so had his coach. He took in a deep breath. Set back his shoulders and pulled in his wings. It was okay. He could do that by himself, so he could get the scores by himself. He willed his foot to move but he was stuck. He needed Rowan to smile at his and then it would be alright.  
But Rowan was not there. He scanned the crowd again in vain.  
Someone touched his shoulder, gave him his jacket directing him towards the kiss and cry booth. Towards his scores.  
No.  
No.  
The stress welled up. All of his hard work might be for nothing. Training all hours a day, eating only what is on his diet plan. Dedicating his whole life for 7 minutes over two days. His short program had put him in first. But this sport was as feeble as the wind. It could change direction at a second notice and the world could fall apart.  
He didn’t want to go by himself, it was better with someone else.  
People walked past and congratulated him, a few stopping him to give more detailed complements. He didn’t care. Well, he did care that it made them happy. But he didn’t care what they thought. The feedback he wanted was nowhere to be found.  
It was better with some else is also inaccurate, he wanted one person. Rowan Avery. Rowan who smiles so freely and beautifully. Rowan always could tell if something is wrong. He had teased Rowan for being a terrible psychic because he can only understand him. Rowan had smiled almost sadly.  
His hands were shaking now. Vomit was rising like a tidal wave in his throat. There was still so much noise, too much noise. Rowan would always block it out. His voice cleaving through the clamour.  
Breathe.  
Breath in, breath out.  
It’s okay he had done this before.  
He walked up to the booth and sat down. Leg crossed over, hugging a pillow and wings spread out. Confident, he was confident. He looked down at a single white feather on the ground. It looked the same as Rowan’s. Rowan.  
The longing set back in. He just wanted a hug and a reassuring smile, and he would be fine. Even the tight-lipped smile of his coach. Something, someone.  
The scores would be in soon. He fought to keep his heart where it is meant to be, but it rose into his throat. Tears pricked at his eyes. The emotions of the last few days culminating in his almost crying on live television.  
“Jean!”  
That voice.  
He looked up. Running towards him was a boy with a red face and ruffled blonde hair.  
Rowan.  
Jean smiled. It was okay now.  
Rowan collapsed onto the booth beside him. He kissed him on the cheek. A wave of warmth flowed through him. It was okay now.  
“I’m so sorry, I ran off the toilet after you finished because I didn’t want to miss your performance.” Rowan smiled sheepishly. Jean touched his cheek.  
“You’ve seen it a million times before.”  
“I wouldn’t miss you for the world.”  
Jean smiled. He was psychic, that was exactly what needed to be said.  
“Merci mon chéri.”


End file.
